


To Save Me From Tears I'll Give It To Someone Special

by liam22



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liam22/pseuds/liam22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar gets a little frisky before Christmas dinner at the Bennets. For the sylar_claire kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Save Me From Tears I'll Give It To Someone Special

“And for the upstairs.  That's Lyle's room there.  The next door on the right is the bathroom.”  Claire explained, showing off her childhood home.  Sylar, for the most part, was paying attention.  Even though she had a feeling that he asked to be shown around only to get away from her fathers bickering in the kitchen over who got to cut the turkey.  “And this,”  She paused and made one of those Vanna White hand gestures.  “This room is mine.”  

She opened the door to reveal her time capsule of a bedroom.  Nothing in the room had changed since she had moved out; not the flowery pink bedspread with the indelible bloodstain from when she first discovered her power, not the line of cheerleading trophies crowded on the shelves above her desk, not even the collection of Zachary Quinto pictures she had cut out from Seventeen and had taped to her mirror.  She doesn't let go of the door handle, only intending to give a quick peak inside before shepherding him back into less embarrassing territory.  

She shouldn't have worried though.  He isn't nearly as interested in her collection of girlhood trappings as he was about the fact that this room had a lock.  His hand covers hers on the handle, pushes the door fully open, and walks her backwards inside. She hears the door shut and the lock click.  She waits for a snarky remark about the Gerber daisy prints on the walls or the Disney glass figurine collection on the dresser.  None comes.  

He's too busy pulling her towards him for a kiss.  One touch of his lips to hers, and she can tell that the majority of his teasing was going to be of the non-verbal variety.  He always cups her cheek with one hand when he kisses her.  Secretly, it makes her that much more crazier for him.  Even if she did once tell him it was an achingly sentimental gesture for a convicted serial killer.  She secretly likes the fact that that remark never stopped him.  

His kisses don't waste time staying sweet and chaste.  There was plenty of time for that later, under the mistletoe...  in front of her fathers.  The thought made him grin wide against her mouth.  Her tongue came out to seek his and they dance against each other until he can't help but pull her flush against him.  

“Sylar are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked in between kisses.  Her nerves from earlier were replaced with a more tangible worry.  This doesn't stop her hands from fisting in the fabric on the front dress shirt.  She wouldn't notice the wrinkles she left until later.

“Relax, no one is going to catch us.”  His words roll over her like warm molasses. But that might just be the way he is kissing along her jawline.  She wanted to believe him.  He had this annoying habit of always being right.  Still.

“Seriously, everyone is right downstairs.  My father is downstairs.”  She halfheartedly batted away the hands that were attempting to slip underneath her blouse.  He seemed to take her words as more of a challenge than anything else.  “You remember my father right, the one with the big shotgun?”

She thought she heard him mumble 'which one' against the spot beneath her ear that never fails to make her knees soft.  She can't be sure though.  

“You want me to stop?” He's kissing the base of her neck now, right along the scooped collar of her blouse.  His fingers undo the bottom two buttons, parting the fabric enough to draw figure eights on the sensitive skin above her belly button.  She had to bite her lip to keep anyone from hearing the moan that was about to escape.

“Do and I will shoot you myself.” He chuckles at her garbled words. It amazed him that only a few simple touches could still make her putty in his hands after all these years.  Claire cut him off with another searing kiss.  She grabbed his tie and pulled him backwards with her.  Downstairs, Sandra was attempting to break up another fight.  Any internal struggle Claire had about doing this has disappeared.

With his mouth still fused to hers, it was hard to judge the distance to the bed.  The backs of her knees bumped against it and they tumbled down with a force that sent the headboard smacking against the wall.  

They landed in a mess of arms and legs not nearly in the right spots.  He had quite a close call with her knee himself.  It takes them a moment to untangle.  They can't stop laughing.  

“Really Claire.  Someone might come,” he mocked her earlier statement.  From the spark in his eyes, she can tell he wished someone would.  She may or may not have been thinking the same thing earlier, before they excused themselves.  It would get them out of any future holiday get togethers.  

“You're just asking for coal in your stocking this year, Mister.”

He paused, hands stilling on the buttons he had been undoing.  “Has that ever actually happened to anyone?”  He looked curious.  She hoped he hadn't taken that as another challenge.  

“You would know,” she retorted. 

He was agonizingly slow with the rest of the bitty pearl buttons of her blouse. He wasn't even using his power.  Claire squirmed beneath him.  Why wasn't he touching anything fun yet?  If he kept going at this rate, there wouldn't be any green bean casserole left for them.  

“Can't you hurry up.” She didn't mean it to sound so much like begging.  She barely fit in the room with him and his ego as it was.

“Nope.”  That smirk both turns her on and makes her want to throw something at his head.  He popped the last button between her breasts, before pulling the shirt off slower than before.  “I've always like taking my time to unwrap my presents.”

She can see that really.  Him as a little child, carefully peeling at the transparent tape, unfolding the wrapping paper on the sides, not tearing a single piece.  She used to like to make as much of a mess as possible; the sea of wrapping paper scraps she'd end up being surrounded with was half the fun.  She reached for his tie, but his hands intercept hers and he shucked it off himself.  It's almost like he knew what she was planning.  She scoffed at that.  What was she thinking; of course he did.

His mouth fastened around a turgid nipple throw the silk fabric of her bra.  His teeth scrap against the damp fabric in a way that made her buck up against him.  This time it is her turn to be clairvoyant.  “Don't even think about it.”  This set of underwear, matching of course, was her favorite.  Not to mention, there were way too many people downstairs who would notice if she wasn't wearing it when they returned. 

He sighed, disappointed. The front clasp of the bra unsnapped and the fabric fell away from her skin.  Finally, he was using his powers. The action made her hips press harder into his. She discards the now useless piece of fabric hastily.  Her urgency must finally be catching on; his shirt joined the pile of discarded clothing.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches view of them:  her teddy bear collection in its full glory had completely overtaken the double wide window-seat.  All dressed in their little costumes and with wide googly eyes, they were hardly the most embarrassing think in the room.  Yet, he had paused  to stare at them in horror.  She groaned.  He had to stop touching her for this? 

“Geez, why haven't you gotten rid of those already.” There was a note of something in his voice that she can't place.  It's not quite the snarky comment she was expecting. 

“What do you have against my teddy bear collection?”  She reached for his belt. She even managed not to fumble with the clasp this time.  Usually he had to help her undo it.  Then again, he was usually the impatient one. 

“They're watching us.”  he complained.  Logically he knew about this collection.  She had told him about it once – waxing nostalgic over wine and “The World of Henry Orient”.  He had made the requisite jokes and laughed as she defended the tradition.  That was before he had learned his father was into taxidermy.

“And here I was certain you didn't have any trouble performing under pressure.” There was something of a balm in her voice that soothed over the recently reopened scars and something urgent in her touch that pulled him back into the moment.  

She pulled his boxers down and his half-hard cock sprung out from the top.  Her hands wrapped around it.  She's always loved the feel of him  With a twist of her wrist, she gave him a slow stroke from base to tip.  Her fingers lingered on the underside, while her thumb ran across the sensitive tip.  “Are they still a problem?”  The question is nothing if not seductive.

“Yes.” He groans.  But his head had fallen back and his eyes were half-lidded.  She's didn't need to have his power to tell that he was lying. 

“Now, please.  Now.”  She didn't care if she was begging any longer.  He murmured in agreement.  Sylar leaned her back against the bed she never imagined would be used for this purpose.  Her golden curls spread wildly across the pillow make her look a bit like the angel his mother used to topped their Christmas tree with.  His erection rubbed against her inner thigh and she repeated the phrase.  Like she had given a command, he entered her.  

He's too busy kissing down her along her breast, between the valley between them, and teasingly around her aureola.  Neither were paying attention to the sound of someone climbing the stairs.  Especially not with his teeth scraping gently over the tips of her breasts.  She moans out his name louder than she should have.  The rhythm of their hips sped up.  

There was a knock at the door moments later.  Sylar doesn't stop his ministrations.  She thought she heard the faint grunt of 'I'll show you performance anxiety'; but that too could have been her imagination. It was hard to think clearly with one of his hands gliding in time against her clit.  

“Hey Claire.”  It's Peter.  He sounded both hesitant and worried.  She can practically see him on the other side of the door wringing his hands.  Sylar's strokes got a bit wilder; they fall out of time with what she swore was his internal clock.  She has to cover her mouth with her hand to keep her approval from spilling out loud enough for Peter to hear.  “Eh...You might want to come back downstairs.  Nathan and Noah have managed to find a pair of samurai swords.”

Neither respond.  She can hear Peter standing still at the door.  She wondered what else he had to say.    She wondered what he would do if she came shouting Sylar's name right then and there.  With the way his fingers were moving in tighter and tighter circles against her clit, she didn't doubt that it might happen.  

“Samurai swords?” Sylar can't help but comment, hearing Peter's footsteps retreating down the stairs. He could hear glass breaking downstairs and the rushing beat of her heart.    

“Welcome to the family.”  Their bodies, slick with perspiration they won't be able to later explain, slide against each other.  It's familiar, but awkward at the same time.  He was used to having much more room to work with than her girly-sized twin bed offered.  

“Wow, you really are all nuts, aren't you?” He probably should have tried harder to pretend the interruption was more of a buzz kill.  The idea of everyone, especially dear ol' Uncle Peter, knowing made his head spin and the vision of her beneath him willingly blur soft around the edges.

“Hey,” she protests.  She lifts herself up  on her elbows enough that she can glare down a him.    “I resent that.  Mr. Muggles is a perfectly normal dog.”  The puff of his laughter feels warm against the exposed skin below her breasts. 

She arched against him. She's close.  She can tell he is too. He leaned down and pressed his cheek flush against her.  His face is partially buried in the pillow and when she reaches climax he can feel her whole body vibrate like a tuning fork watch.  Another large crash downstairs covered her shout.

Completely spent, Claire drew him in for another kiss.  In a whisper against his lips, she says. “This better not be all you are getting me for Christmas.”  

“Do you smell smoke?”


End file.
